Friday, February 19, 2010

Sonnet, by Srikanth Reddy

I was cold.
You wove me a mantle of smoke.
I was thirsty.
You sent me a cloud in a crate.Add Image
You sent me a note.
You sent me a crate in a crate with a note saying bury this.
So I struck off with my shovel & never came back.
When the digging was over, I buried my shovel.
I buried it deeper.
Tendered my prospects to dusk.
Some men will make a grave out of anything.
It depends on how lonely they get.
Times when a body could dig through the night.


  1. I saw this poem on the bus on my way to school.
    I liked it so I saved a part of it on my phone.
    Beautiful poem.